Another Life
by ActionFantasyLuver
Summary: Lawrence fell in love with Gwen, as she did him, but tragically it was not to be. If only he had known her in another life … STORY COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Another Life**

_(Lawrence fell in love with Gwen, as she did him, but tragically it was not to be. If only he had known her in another life ….)_

_-note: some scenes described are from the extended edition of The Wolfman-_

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_He would never forgive himself if anything ever happened to her._

_Oh, but even before this he knew he was falling in love. At first sight, perhaps, when she so boldly came to him backstage at __The Theatre Royale _in London. She sought help when her beloved Ben disappeared. Her demeanor was direct, her temperament in check, and Lawrence knew she was an extraordinary young woman. He sensed it, admired it, and nearly begrudged her the obvious worry and care for her missing fiancé.

Poor Benjamin. He was Lawrence's even tempered fair-skinned brother, who the actor hadn't seen face to face in years. There had been a photograph, a small oval-shaped print Ben mailed to Lawrence a few years ago - and my, how Ben looked like their Father - but they would write to one another only occasionally. Lawrence wondered if Father knew about their correspondence - and if he would care if he did know?

And did he know of Miss Conliffe's visit?

Last year Ben mentioned in a hastily written missive that he was seeing a Miss Gwendolyn Conliffe, the daughter of a successful antique dealer, but Lawrence did not know how far the relationship had progressed. Perhaps Ben had wanted to keep her under wraps, to protect her from the tragedy that was his brother's life ... And he had completely failed to mention that Gwen was an exceptionally beautiful woman.

Lawrence refused to help at first, thinking Ben had cold feet and simply ran out on his obligation. However, the look in her eyes, Gwen's desperate words and determination, had shaken his stubbornness. There was something there, a near challenge that stirred his blood. And, in retrospect, Ben would have had to been out of his mind to abandon someone like Gwen Conliffe.

Even during that brief introduction and exchange he saw she was so unlike the other women he knew; the brazen actresses and admirers from the theatre. All Lawrence had to do was snap his fingers and any one of the striking young ladies would be his companion for the night. Popularity, Lawrence flipantly told friends, often has its rewards. But it also had its demands - And, in all honesty, he was a very lonely man, despite the attention.

Miss Conliffe, he reasoned, was respectable and genteel. She might possibly even a bit of an autocrat if given the right circumstances. Yet, she also had a warm, loving heart and - he reflected - a passionate feistiness that might seem unladylike to some who did not know better ... but it captivated Lawrence - and Ben too..

No, she was not a phony and Lawrence could see how his brother, an honest man of few words and a less than worldly nature, had managed to impress and woo a woman like Gwen Conliffe. At least, Lawrence thought he understood. Ben was simple and uncomplicated. He was trustworthy and secure. He was also well-liked in Blackmoor. Any woman would be happy calling him her husband.

Lawrence and Gwen never really got around to talking about she and Ben during their brief talks near the falls, the lake, or even when he was recovering, unknowing of his fate, and she sat there by his bedside. It was just too painful. Shamefaced, Lawrence found himself wondering if he came back to Blackmoor for Ben or to further find himself in Gwen's company. He felt further guilt when his father informed him that Ben was no longer just missing but dead, mauled by a madman or creature of unknown orgins.

Then, when he was attacked himself and she was there, by his bedside, watching over him, caring for him and his most unnatural wound - how could he not love her? Lawrence would open his eyes during the night, the glow of a bright half-moon filtering through the heavy curtains and she would be sitting there, eyes closed, resting or asleep, an open book oftentimes clasped to her lovely bosom. Groggy and half asleep himself he had wished he was that book, to be so close to such perfection.

But then he would fall asleep again and the dreams he had - awful violent nightmares - would over-shadow the gentleness of the lovely, calming vision that was his late brother's fiancé … the woman Lawrence had grown to not just desire but revere.

Oh, but it was so wrong. Such guilt he felt every time she came close and he yearned to touch her, smell the delicate perfume she wore, and look deeply into the stunning depths of her eyes. And how he wanted to hold her, kiss away her pain, hoping she might take away some of his own heartache in return.

Lawrence decided could live very happily for the rest of his life with a woman like Gwen Conliffe by his side. It was so wrong to think such things, his brother barely cold in his grave, but it also seemed so right. When they spoke with one another there was such a connection, a chemistry, and when they touched, when he taught her the rock-skipping trick, there was laughter and an all too brief joy.

It was as if she were his soul-mate ….

Silly nonsense, of course, but there were times when he would look into her eyes and see the same longing, the identical need, even if neither of them said it aloud.

His father, Gwen had said, resented her because she reminded him of Lawrence's mother … a lovely woman of Spanish, possibly even a mixture of bloods, who Lawrence resembled. Perhaps that was a part of the puzzle. Despite her heritage, a dark skin color, and an uncertain pedigree, Mother was a bright light in their large dreary home - as was Gwen. That must have been a terrible conflict for Father; to have loved Mother so much, to have had her taken away by her own hand, then to have Ben bring Gwen into their lives - a terrible reminder of what Father once had and lost.

Lawrence too had loved his mother. She would often read to he and Ben, as they sat at her feet, and oftentimes his head would rest on her knees, the cool silk of her gowns soothing under his cheek and she would stroke his hair. She had told her children stories of strong Persian heroes, English Knights, giants and dragons … but never monsters. Perhaps she had an intuition that such evil would come to her family soon enough … and all innocence would be lost forever.

And it was. The nightmare was never ending. Only death would bring it to a satisfying conclusion. And, if God, or whoever was in ultimate control of mans destiny, was kind it would be quick and merciful - and come at the hands of someone who loved him.

He was a monster. His father was a monster.

_Oh, Gwen …_

Her kiss. Her touch. Her kindness. Her love.

"I'm sorry." she whispered, holding him, tears running freely down her exquisite cheeks. They were near the falls. She was tenderly stroking his hair and face. And there was pain, life ebbing, but not as agonizing as one might think. There was silver in that bullet, he thought briefly. Perhaps that made the difference ….

The last thing Lawrence remembered was confronting his father in the great-room. Sir John Talbot had killed Lawrence's Mother … no suicide … and poor Ben … and so many others. Father had confessed to it all. He was a werewolf. Like father, like son.

Lycanthropy.

Sir John was the demon that had made Lawrence the way he was. He ruined his childhood and adult life. He had taken everything from him. But, despite this, Lawrence hoped God was forgiving. His father had gone mad. It took twenty-five years to truly manifest itself but it was madness just the same. Lawrence could forgive him now …

"It had to be this way." Lawrence tried to reassure Gwen. The misery on her face was almost too much for him to bear. But even this was fading. Darkness was over-coming Lawrence. "Thank you." he breathed out heavily. _My darling …. _

_Gwen._ _Yes, thank you for ending this. You are truly the one genuinely good thing that has happened to me. _

If only he had known her in another life …

_Gwen._

If only.

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_(Go to Chapter 2)_


	2. Chapter 2

**_2010_**

They sat together in a small café and coffee shop on Branson Street. It was an "up and coming" neighborhood, the British realtors would say, but others might call it run down and dingy, in bad need of a good street cleaning and out-door decorator. Still, this shop served the best hot drinks on the east side.

"You'll like him. He's an actor. Mostly theatre but he's done some American TV too."

Gwen Townsend rolled her eyes. How often had she heard this from her friend. Another set-up. "He's an American, you say?" she asked, as if to clarify. Actually, Gwen _had_ heard of Lawrence Sandoval, even seen him years ago when she had been in New York. He was doing _Hamlet_ off Broadway at the time. And he was good. She was surprised by how much she enjoyed watching him perform on stage. She was never a true Shakespeare fan but the ticket was free, sent to her anomalously, and she had a couple hours to kill.

But she had known a few actors in her lifetime and they always came across as arrogant. She found most of them distasteful.

"He's ruggedly handsome." Pearl spoke enthusiastically, her auburn ponytail bobbing, "They say his Father was a famous bullfighter in Spain - and his Mother is an American politician of some kind. They divorced when he was a boy and she brought him up …"

Gwen nodded, only half interested as she sipped her latte.

Her friend, Pearl, was dating the manager of the now ancient _The_ _Theatre Royale _near Piccadilly, where Lawrence Sandoval and his theatre group were currently engaged. It was a world tour of some kind. His _Richard the 3__rd_was getting wonderful revues from the local critics.

"He could be the one, Gwen."

"The one, what?"

"Mr. Right, of course."

"OR Mr. Right-**_now_**." she smiled blithely, amused by her joke.

"Gwen, you are such a cynic." Pearl giggled, "He was very interested when Peter, through me, suggested you two meet. You should feel very flattered. He could see any woman he wants while here and he chose you."

"I'm just not ready for anything serious. And dating is such a waste of time."

John had left her with a broken-heart. At least, she kept telling herself it was broken even thoguh she felt numbness more then pain.

Pearl studied her friend sympathetically. "It's been nearly a year." she said, "That dolt leaving you for Emily was the best thing that could ever have happened. He didn't deserve you."

Spoken like a true friend. Gwen nearly smiled.

"And it _is _only a date. You're in control. If you don't like him you don't need to see him again. Besides, he's probably going back to the States soon."

"Fine." Gwen gave in, "When do we get together?"

"Here." Pearl pulled a theatre ticket out of her blouse pocket and slid it over the small round table to Gwen, "Tonight. You'll watch the performance then go see him after in his dressing room."

"How romantic." Gwen quipped.

"He's going to take you to dinner, silly."

"Well …" The ticket was for 3rd row center. Not bad, really. "I suppose. The tall, dark and ruggedly handsome type isn't really my style but I guess I can make an exception."

Pearl laughed as Gwen slid the ticket into her own purse.

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The performance was superb and Lawrence Sandoval made his curtain call to a standing ovation.

Gwen was impressed although, anyone watching her might have thought she was merely satisfied. She stood and applauded with a little less enthusiasm then most, gauging how the actor bowed then clasped hands with the man and woman on his right and left and they all bowed together.

He had a wonderfully powerful stage presence. His Richard was nearly _beastly_. The Bard would have been proud of him.

Briefly, during his bows, he made eye contact with her, and Gwen wondered if he knew she was his date. Pearl said nothing of showing him a photograph of her so Gwen didn't think he knew. But certainly Peter had described her to the actor. Perhaps he had over-sold her. Was that why she saw a sudden pensive look in his eyes?. Gwen shivered a little. There was something vaguely familiar … but of course, she saw him in New York. Why was she over-analyzing his expression? She probably had nothing to do with it.

Gwen wore a simple black dress, hem above the knee, as was the fashion, and she allowed her wavy almond colored hair to fall free, framing a face of minimal make-up. No smoky eyes for the evening. She wasn't in the mood. Some might call her attractive, others might even call her beautiful. Right now she just hoped she was presentable. And Gwen disliked that it mattered to her what the man thought of her looks. She didn't even like actors …

As the curtain closed Gwen had a sudden urge to run out of the theatre and call for a Minicab. Why was she doing this? Why was she so afraid?. Right now she just wanted to go home to her cat, a pint of chocolate swirl ice cream, turn the TV on and watch an old _Benny Hill _rerun.

Still, something pushed her forward. She wasn't quite sure what it was but a small voice in her head told her if she didn't move onward with this encounter she would regret it for the rest of her life. She winced. The voice in her head sounded desperate. That was a sad commentary on her love life right now.

_It's only a date._

_(to be continued ...)_


	3. Chapter 3

"My name is Gwen Townsend." she said to the backstage doorman. "Mr. Sandoval is expecting me."

The man seemed to eye her with a suspicious expression, scratching the dark stubble of his chin, but nodded. He disappeared behind the door for a few moments, then returned, opening the door wide for her to enter. "Third door on the right." he said, with a slight cockney edge to his tone. "Knock." he added gruffly, as if he didn't think she would have the good sense to do otherwise.

Gwen found the door imprinted with a yellow star, painted to make one all aware that he was, indeed, the main attraction of the production. She hesitated and listened for a moment. It was curiously quiet. Gwen expected throngs of actors and fans making there way in and out of the room.

Taking a quick gulp of breath, Gwen lifted a hand and knocked.

"Come in." she heard him call. It was a good, strong voice.

The dressing room was nice. It was not overly big but it could hold a group of six or seven comfortably. There were various theatrical necessities present, a mirrored table and a few props in the corner. There was also a cream colored sofa which was a bit too close to the door. She nearly walked into it.

Across the room the star's wardrobe was closed but the costume he wore on stage, including a foam-fake back hump, was on a hook. It was hung on a hanger, ready to be cleaned.

Lawrence Sandoval was nowhere to be seen and she might have thought it a practical joke had she not seen the movement of a shadow behind a curtained screen near the lavatory.

"Excuse me. I'm taking off my stage makeup. Having trouble with the eyeliner. 'fraid the makeup man got a little carried away. Might make for a bad first impression."

Gwen chuckled. At least he had a sense of humor. "I'm surprised there are not more people back here."

"The cast and crew are in the local pub. Doesn't take long when the producer tells everyone the drinks are on him."

Gwen laughed, gently.

"Did you like the play?" the voice asked.

"Very much." Gwen replied, 'The production values are amazing."

"I wanted to take _Othello_ overseas but I was voted down by the rest of the company. I guess _Richard _has its moments."

"Well_, I _was impressed if that means anything." she tried to keep her voice light. "So, Mr. Sandoval, where are we going?"

"Call me Lawrence or Larry. Hope you like Italian," he called, "There is this great restaurant on Proctor Court. I went there a couple days ago."

"_Rizzoli'_s. I know it. A good choice."

He came around the screen, wearing blue jeans, a clean white shirt and pulling on a black jacket, sans make-up. He smiled at her, small and gentle, his eyes approving and somewhat downcast, unpredictably bashful.

Yet, Gwen sensed something more then shyness. There seemed almost a familiarity about him, but she put the thought aside. "Nice to meet you." she said. With a small clear of her throat Gwen lifted a hand and tried to not look too nervous or overly appreciative. He was even better looking then she remembered him from New York.

He hesitated before lifting his own hand for the gentle handshake. "I saw you in the audience and could not believe my good fortune …."

Contact. Soft and warm - and ghastly.

Suddenly, she felt the breath knocked out of her. Gwen's legs gave away and she felt strong yet tender arms holding her, lifting her, and she was laying on softness ...

_Image upon terrifying images assailed her. A monster slashed its way through the countryside, killing men, women and children. Blood. So much blood but there was also a drama of another kind. The betrayal by a father, sympathy from a near stranger, and she was falling in love. Dear God, she was in love with his brother! How could this have happened? His touch was soothing but the look in his eyes - tortured, in need of sympathy, someone to care and hold him. She loved him. Oh, yes she did - and she needed to save him. But to do that she had to be the one to end his life. The gypsy told her but … But no, he was there in her arms . And she _did_ save him … and he was dying and grateful ….NO!_

"Gwen … Gwen …"

Her eyes flickered open and she was looking up at a handsome, concerned face. She found herself laying on the sofa she nearly walked into when entering the dressing room.

"Are you all right?" he asked. He gently stroked her cheek and hair.

"Something happened. I saw …" she allowed the sentance hang for a moment.

"Wh … what did you see?" he suddenly seemed afraid.

It was coming back to her. She looked up and met his eyes, "_Lawrence_?"

"You're remembering." he said in a low voice, both amazed and understanding. "I thought it might happen but not so soon. Not like this."

Gwen sat up and stared at him. "I killed you …" Her words were barely heard. She lifted a finger to touch his cheek and lips. "But no," She turned away and dropped her hand, "It's not possible."

"Just like turning into a werewolf is impossible."

Their eyes met again.

"I've lived every life fallowing my death in1892 looking for you. Three lifetimes. I was a painter, a soldier and now, once again, an actor. My curse is remembering but it's also a blessing because I am allowed to remember you - and to search for you. And now I've finally found you, Gwen."

"You've been following me?" she asked, not truly afraid but curious.

"I had to wait for the right moment. I sent you a ticket a couple years ago in New York for my play …"

"I always wondered where it came from." she nearly gasped.

"But the timing was all wrong. You left the theatre and I had no idea where to find you. Then I knew. I needed to come back to England. I needed to go back to Talbot Hall, back to the scene of my crimes."

Her tone grew protective, "But Lawrence, you could not help it …"

"I know. But fate is a fickle bastard. I had to come back - to find myself, you, and reclaim my life."

She knew what he said was true. It might not make sense in this incredulous, conventional world but it was true. Just as werewolves are real. Perhaps not today but at the turn of the twentieth century they lived as they had centuries before. Still, she was puzzled, "Why couldn't I remember until …"

"… you touched me?" He smiled and shook his head, saddened.

It was a gesture she remembered from a lifetime or two ago and it went to her heart,

"Maybe that is the way it was to be as well?" He smiled and took her hand, "Why should you suffer when you've never been anything more than kind and good?"

"Not always so kind." she smiled at him, a bit awkward, and was pleased when he did the same. "But you were a good man too … but cursed."

"I could never forget you, not after all these years, and one day I wanted to be able to tell you how much I loved you."

"Oh, Lawrence." she said quickly, and raised her hands to his shoulders, "I'm not certain about my past lives but I know in this one I've not been able to find one single man I could see myself spending the rest of my life with. But when we were together, in such a brief time, I knew - _knew_ it was you. Even while poor Ben lay in his grave …" She gulped.

"I know." Lawrence looked into her eyes. Such lovely eyes. "I felt the same way. Always guilt - but I did not lie when I told you I would give all I owned to know you in another life."

"And here we are." she whispered, her lips drawing close to his.

"I can't believe this is happening." he whispered, almost afraid now that everything he ever wanted was in his grasp.

"Believe it." she said, quickly. "I may not remember my past lives like you but my spirit is at least as old as yours. And I want you back."

He turned away ever so slightly, still afraid. He remembered a saying: _He who tries to grasps too much may end by holding nothing._

"Lawrence, look at me." she said.

He did.

"I love you. I always have." She drew him to her. "Kiss me."

He needed no further persuasion. Lawrence's arms slid gently around her and their lips met in a sweetly passionate contact. Her hands caressed his neck and hair and when it was time to part for air, they held one another, savoring the moment.

"I love you too." he whispered in her ear

wwwww

_(continue to conclusion)_


	4. Chapter 4

He stayed in London long after the play closed and his theatre company left for the United States.

Weeks later he and Gwen were engaged, their wedding planned for early Summer.

Her friend, Pearl, was giddy with happiness. "I knew it! I just knew it!" she gushed, pleased that she not only pulled Gwen from her funk but successfully proved herself a great matchmaker.

One evening while they lay in bed together, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder, Lawrence told Gwen it was important they return. She understood the need for closure. Not just for him but herself.

He and Gwen traveled to Blackmoor together.

They took a bus part of the way, then travelled by train, then they rented a car that took them as far as the forest and standing stones.

Lawrence eyed them with distain. His nightmare started with those stones, when the creature launched itself at him, nearly killing him. At the time Lawrence wished it had. Especially later when he learned it was his own father who attacked him.

"Lawrence!"

He turned to look at Gwen who had climbed the hill and was looking out at the horizon. Lawrence followed her and when standing side by side he placed his arm around her shoulders. It was a chilly day that threatened rain and both had worn only light jackets.

They looked out at the ruins of Talbot Hall. Nearly nothing was left but charred brick and a few slabs of wood.

"I'm surprised no one ever bought the land and built on it." Gwen said.

"They will. One day." he replied.

"It's been over a hundred years."

"A hundred years of peace. How the villagers must have danced when the last of the Talbot's died."

"No, not really." Gwen recalled, "The Inspector was bitten and there was a fresh terror that he had been cursed as well."

"I bit the Aberline?" Lawrence suddenly appeared ashen. "What happened?"

"I don't know if he ever changed. He returned to London and at the first full moon of the following month I waited for word but nothing ever came. I can only assumed he found a cure, he locked himself up for the rest of his life, or he never changed at all."

Neither spoke for a moment, thinking their own thoughts.

"I learned later that Inspector Aberline had a wife and children but nothing more." Gwen sighed, "Perhaps I didn't _want_ to know."

She leaned into Lawrence.

Gwen Conliffe had died an old maid back then. She had been emotionally damaged by the wretched deaths of the two men she had loved. She was never able to open her heart again and when her father died she took over the antique store and ran the business quite successfully until her dying day. She left the shop and any other wealth she had accumulated to her sister and her children.

Lawrence kissed Gwen's forehead. This wasn't easy for either of them. "Let's go to the village, order a warm supper, and eat it with gusto. Then we'll go to an Inn, close ourselves away in a nice cozy room together and …."

"… sleep in a nice comfy bed together?" She smiled gently and looked up at him.

"Yes."

As they moved away Lawrence paused, turning to look into the dark woods to their right.

He could have sworn he saw movement. Then he heard the howl of a beast.

_A wolf._

Gwen did not seem to notice.

Quickly, he followed her to the car.

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THE END.

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(_**Please review this, my first THE WOLFMAN fiction. Appreciate it!:)**)_


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